I am King of Narnia: The Return
by PippinStrange
Summary: SEQUEL see profile. Peter's epic story continues from his POV. Combines movie, book, and my ideas. When Peter finds himself restless and forgetting Aslan, he's suddenly thrust back into Narnia 1300 years later with his siblings to help a Prince in battle.
1. A Tense, Dark Prologue

**HEY TO ANY NEW READERS OUT THERE!**

**THIS IS A SEQUEL!**

**Before you read this, you may want to read "I was King of Narnia" which you can find on my profile page. It covers Peter's epic story from his POV from; life in London, during the war, summer at the Professor's house, the Narnia events, what happened during the eightish/tenish years they reigned, how they got back to our World, and how they adjusted their lives to be normal again with school and social activities. **

**Its combines everything in the book AND the movie and I cover what happens in between that neither deal with! **

**This may not make as much sense unless you read the other story first because I do A LOT of character development and explain WHY certain things happen. Plus you will find references from past happenings. **

**Anyway, thanks for reading!**

**Pip**

* * *

**TO MY CURRENT READERS:**

Hey my reviewers! We're off on another whirlwind adventure. I saw Prince Caspian Thursday night at midnight, and I was totally enchanted from beginning to end. It was a completely incredible movie, I only hope I can do Peter's character justice. His emotions, fights, opinions, dialogue, action, etc were ALL expanded in ways I never would have guessed. So continue to be as wonderful as ever, and I can assure you I'll do my best. Thanks for your ongoing support, you guys are fantastic.

**So, here's to the next story. **

**Without you there IS NO STORY. **

**Further Up and Further In!**

**-**_**Pippin B**_

* * *

_**Little warning:**_

It's going to be rather difficult setting up Peter as an older guy with more issues, so I'm just going to jump right in. Sorry if it seems to abrupt considering the sappy-feel-good feeling of the first story, but I wrote it that way on purpose so we could REALLY see how he misunderstood Aslan's words to the point of idiocy.

THIS STORY IS ESPECIALLY DEDICATED TO '_I AM ME' and 'PRINCESS LUCY'_ who combined imaginative efforts to create the title of this story.

* * *

Chapter One, **Prologue**

"_Stop being Peter the boy, as you once were, BE who YOU BECAME. You are High King Peter! I have given you a sacred title, do not throw it to the dogs!"_

I heard his words again inside my head, wondering if I was dead. The wolf's jaws had clamped over my throat, everything had gone black, and now all I felt was pressure cutting the bonds between head and body. I thought I'd killed the wolf. Why was he back?

"Here you go, easy, silly fellow. Let me get that off of you. You are so clumsy."

"Hm?"

"Pete, just hold still! You're making things worse!"

"Edmund, what are you doing?" I found that the blackness was disappearing like summer storm clouds, and my brother, Edmund, was grinning at me.

"Why are you smiling like that?" I asked rather dubiously.

"Because that was highly amusing," Edmund said, patting my leg.

I looked down, and I was in bed. My bookshelf lay on the floor, with a dozen books scattered around. I winced and put a hand to my neck, feeling the clamp of the wolf's fangs in my memory.

"Are you hurt?" Edmund asked, suddenly concerned.

"By the Lion's Mane, Ed, I don't even know what happened! Would you care to enlighten me?"

"Oh, well," Ed replied, still looking a little worried. "I woke up to the sound of you yelling random things about battles and Narnia and such. You got all tangled up in your blankets, threw your hand in the air, knocked your bookshelf—the little one from right above your headboard—off and onto your face. I haven't laughed so hard, since…" Edmund slowed to a stop, realizing I didn't share his hilarity.

"I was having a nightmare," I said slowly. "You of all people should understand that!"

By the look that crossed Edmund's face, I knew I'd hurt him.

"Sorry, Ed," I said quickly, "I didn't mean that. Not like how it sounded, anyway. I just meant that…I can relate, I guess. This is the second nightmare I've had in the past five months."

"When was the first? Why didn't you tell me?"

"It didn't seem so important," I said, "It happened the night I felt Aslan's presence…you know, when I went out and watched the sun rise and, um, lost my temper…during the Christmas holidays."

"Right. That one time." Edmund hopped off my bed and began picking up scattered books. "So, tell me about your dream."

"Which one?"

"The most recent one," Ed chuckled a little, but quickly suppressed it.

I shivered and felt my neck again. I could have sworn I was being slowly beheaded five minutes ago. It was not a pleasant feeling.

"Well, the wolf, and I, we were in it tight—it was harder than the first time—and he finally had me in a choke hold, and his fangs were getting deeper and deeper into my neck until I felt like…" I shuddered. "I'd rather forget about it," I added curtly. "Don't bother me about it anymore."

Ed looked hurt. "No need to lash out at me, Peter. I'm just trying to help."

"Maybe I don't need it, Ed, not right now," I said, trying to sound gentle. "Try to understand."

"I do understand," Ed stood quickly and chucked a book at me. "I understand _completely_. Ever since you've had your little special moment with Aslan…" he spat it out mockingly, as if he'd been waiting to say it a long while. "You've acted different. You've been acting like…as if…you were more special that us."

"That's not true!" I cried, horrified. "I've just had a renewed sense of hope, that I have to keep having faith," even then, I choked on the word, "in Aslan…that he'll bring us back."

"So much faith, it astounds me," Ed said sarcastically. "You can barely say the word. Your little sunrise blabber party didn't do anything for what you call faith. All it did was make you feel like the High King again. Taller than you are, stronger than necessary, egotistical and self-centered!"

"That's…not…TRUE!" I jumped to my feet, feeling anger swell from my chest and heat my face like an oven. _How DARE he attack me like that? He was making stupid assumptions. _

I took an angry step towards Ed. He balled up a fist. When I saw his face set in the determined, gray pallor, I knew I'd pushed him. _No, that's not right. He was the one over-analyzing things! He's the one who gave me a whole monologue about how he thought I acted!_

He wasn't Ed right now. He was King Edmund the Just.

"I'm sorry," I said shortly, stepping back again and sitting on the bed. "I'm sorry, Ed."

"Yeah, I know, Pete," Ed turned and walked from the room. "We all are."

...

...

...

I dragged my feet towards the top of the hill, hoping for some kind of recognition—acknowledgment—notice—visions—anything at all!

What Edmund had said struck a nerve and shattered it. I felt like he was right. It'd only been five months since the…epiphany, I guess…but I tried to do what Aslan said.

He told me not to forget who I was. I had to be the High King, no matter what. It was a gift. I had to have faith he'd send us back.

_What was my problem?_

Maybe it was only because I was a stupid seventeen-year-old who was getting impatient. I longed for the weight of my sword on my belt, the wind in my hair, the fresh Narnian air working on my soul, the responsibility of being High King, and the incredible feeling when I was completely in charge!

Was I just a power-hunger tyrant? No better than that Hitler fellow?

_No, I wasn't. _

I reached the top of the hill, but the sky was gray. Rain drops flitted down, falling so slowly it could have just been moisture falling from the trees. Dead trees…stupid, dead, trees. Their spirits weren't even in there. Maybe they never had spirits!

"Aslan, this is getting ridiculous," I said. "I've done what you asked. I've never forgotten who I am. I've been patient. Don't you think I've waited long enough? I don't think I can bear it any longer!"

A wind whistled by…a chilly, lifeless wind. Aslan's warm breath was nowhere near it. A bluebird twittered nearby, and the sky only became darker.

"Stupid summer," I muttered, kicking a stone. "Stupid holidays. There's nothing to do. Stupid weather. Can't we get a little sunshine once in awhile?"

I tromped down the hill again, feeling drained…as if something critical inside of me had fallen out. By the time I reached the bottom of the hill, I felt totally hollow.

If I had truly thought about it, I would have marched back up there and made amends and renew my promise to be a good kid.

But I didn't.

I kept walking.

That was my first mistake.

I'd intentionally veered my path an entirely different direction than the light of Aslan's way. I wanted to feel selfish, I wanted to be the victim here—Aslan was the one letting ME down. I was done being patient. I was done being Peter. I was ready to be the High King of Narnia again. And if Aslan wasn't going to do anything clever about it, I'd have to take charge of my own life.

All these thoughts were completely unknown to me as I let myself back into the house, brushing by Susan as if she didn't exist. I didn't really know the outcome of my deliberate pity-party.

If I had, I don't know if I'd be the same man I am today.

I felt an exhilarating sense of being on my own…dangerous, but the adrenaline was going, so I took no notice. Life was going to get better.

_Just you wait, Aslan. I'm not going to disappoint you. I'll get back to Narnia if it kills me. You just watch me, Aslan! I'm going to make you proud enough to burst. You just lay back and observe, like you do so well. It's not like you've been involved in my life lately anyway._

* * *

**Alright, my reviewers. There's the first chapter of the awaited sequel! (Aren't I nice? You only had to wait, like, three days!) **

**I only have one request. Please review. I can't write fan fiction very well unless there are plenty of reviews—because that's what its FOR, the fans! Review and I will send you LOTS of mental cyber cookies, cake, and chocolate handmade by a pair of fauns in a monastery near the Archenland border. **

**Or, if you don't, I could send Jadis to your doorstep. ;-)**

**God Bless!**

**For Narnia, and for Aslan!**

**-Pip**


	2. Not My Best Day

Thanks for all your wonderful reviews! There were lots and the replies I wrote were too long for an introductory, so I sent them personally instead. But to everyone: Thanks for your unending support. None of this is possible without you.

**God Bless**

**Further up and further in!**

**Pip**

* * *

**IMPORTANT NOTICE (everyone read!!)**

Very many of you have expressed concern (both negative and positive) about Peter being a jerk in the movie. Here's my oath to you guys: I'm remaining loyal to the book.

I reread the river/woods journey to see how Peter acted, and he WAS a big jerk. He was always referred to as "trying to hold his temper" and when Susan made a good point, he just shouted, "Oh shutup—shutup!"

However, the antagonism between Peter and Caspian was pure Hollywood, and I am not going to do that. They will have their differences, but they will also respect eachother. Lewis describes the army being very down after a particularly bad battle (which the movie dubbed 'the Night Raid') and that tempers were flaring afterwards. I could play a little with that…and, yet again, I pledge that Peter will still be Peter!

Peter will have a little trouble with his temper and lashing out at people. But he WON'T have a big ego, try to take Caspian's place, nor will he be overtly proud and arrogant.

"I am not here to take your place, Caspian, but to put you into it." –Peter

This quote WILL BE IN MY STORY.

Rest assured, my dears.

First loyalty is to C.S. Lewis!

(so, no Caspian/Susan romance, either…)

* * *

**Disclaimer: **The Great Lewis owns all except for Leyli, Thomas Bennet, Peter's group of friends, the neighborhood cat, and…anyone else I might mention that seems totally unfamiliar.

* * *

Chapter Two**, Not My Best Day**

I pedaled my bicycle quickly down the street, feeling the whoosh of air whistling past me. It was relieving to get out and enjoy the break in the rain—it'd been the rainiest summer Finchley had ever had.

The dark clouds were scattered overhead, and I took my eyes off the sidewalk to peer at them. The rain was going to come back, rest assured. And I'd probably be forced indoors again.

The summer was being one of the worst in my life. While we were staying at the Professors last summer, we were able to play in the woods, go swimming, practice sword fighting—and in general, just act like a Narnian. But this summer, there was nothing. It was raining eighty percent of the time, I'd read all my books at least thrice through, and even my siblings grew tired of being with me.

I didn't really understand why. Perhaps I just wasn't very good company…I tended to be moody and thoughtful. Lucy was the only one who understood. That girl was always supportive and a normal sweet heart.

Letting my mind wander, I failed to pull aside in time for a kid about my age stepping out from an alley way with a bag from the grocers. He jumped out of the way and spilled all the contents of his parcel, while I yanked the handlebars and crashed over on the left. People trotting down the busy street stopped and glanced, then resumed their daily doings.

"I'm so sorry," I said, untangling myself from the bike and walking over to where the guy sat on his backside, looking dejected at his fallen items. I held out my hand to help him up.

He glared at me, stood, and shook himself off. "You jolly well just ruined everything!" he growled, beginning to pick up a gardening tool, a packet of seeds, a weed pull, and other garden things. "This is going to cost you a pound! Or, something…"

"Cost ME?" I repeated. "Well, if this were food, yes. But these don't look damaged." I reached down and picked up a small rake. There wasn't a scratch on it.

"I demand it!" the boy said, ripping the rake from my hand. "I can't afford to waste time with clumsy oafs. Two pounds, please." He held out his hand expectantly.

"I didn't even hit you," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "You're the one who spilled. I said I was sorry. I don't owe you any money for goods that are in perfect condition."

"We can settle this some other way," the kid said darkly, looking around.

I realized his predicament. He was probably only embarrassed because he was shopping for his mother or something, and I'd seen what he bought. And since he had an excuse to be angry, he was going to try and make a profit from it.

"Well, thanks anyway," I said, willing myself to be the good guy and just walk away. "But I think I'll be off." I turned.

"Bloody ogre," hissed the guy.

I whirled around. "Hey," I shouted, angrily. "None of that."

"What are you gonna do?" the boy said, having set down his bag on the ground. He jerked his head. "Come on, boy. Let's see your clumsiness again."

He was just asking for it. He REALLY wanted to fight. Maybe he'd just had a bad day and wanted to take it out on someone.

"Forget it," I said shortly.

He reached out and grabbed me by the scruff of my shirt. "Two pounds."

I grabbed his arms and pulled them away. "Get off me!" I reached for my sword.

There was no sword. I looked down at my belt in disbelief.

He swung again and clobbered me in the ear. The second time he swung, I ducked and slammed my head into his stomach, driving him backwards into the alley. He jerked away and punched me in the jaw with his left hand. I bit my tongue—hard—and felt blood running down my chin.

I sidestepped a second swing and punched him hard in the stomach, throwing him back again. We circled for a split second before he slammed into me and knocked me to the ground, punching me in the face once, then twice. I struggled under his weight and finally rolled over, which caused him to jump to his feet. I kicked his legs out from under him, he fell hard and hit his head on the ground. He cried out and put a hand to the back of his head, clearly finished.

I stood up and began brushing myself off. I held out a hand to help him up again.

"What, you gonna pull me up and sock me once I'm at hand level?" he asked sarcastically, glaring.

"No, I was actually going to help, but now I'm not so sure. I don't want to pay a toll." I stared at him evenly, feeling rage course through my veins like fire.

"Forget it," the boy repeated my words, looking away.

"Fine," I said, limping over to my bike and trying to clamber on. I wiped blood away from my mouth and knew I had impending doom waiting for me at home.

….

….

….

"So, what happened?" Susan asked in her grown-up voice, perched on the counter in the loo. She handed me a towel.

I leaned over in the sink and rinsed my mouth out. Blood tastes awful.

"He was asking for it," I said, muffled.

"You STARTED it?" she asked in disbelief.

"No, I didn't. He took a swing at me. And he was trying to make ME pay him because he dropped all of his groceries when I biked by."

"Aha," Susan said plaintively.

"Please don't tell the folks," I said, pleading. I looked up at her. "They wouldn't understand. I tried to walk away…I really did. And when I realized I didn't have my sword—I went to my fists."

"Would you have stabbed the poor fellow if you'd HAD your sword?"

"No. I would have scared him and chased him off! The sword thing...it was instinct. I feel like I'll never be able to figure out that I don't need that kind of instinct in England." I lowered my head back into the sink and spit. "The last thing London needs is High King Peter the MagStupid stalking the alleys."

Susan laughed and patted the back of my head. "You've won me over. I won't tell. I know. It's hard for me too."

"You sure don't act like it," I glanced up again, mildly surprised. "How do you do it?"

"I just keep myself from getting bloody lips and black eyes…and then no one asks." Susan hopped off the counter and rubbed my shoulder. "I still won't tell. But I doubt you'll escape anyone's notice."

I sighed. She was right. Unless…

"Mum?" I called out the loo door. "May I go fishing, please?"

"Yes, I suppose so."

"I'll be back at dusk." I gave Susan a quick kiss on the cheek, grabbed my gear from the hall cubby, and was out the door before anyone could see the tell-tale bruises on my face. They were very light—the fellow didn't have much strength in his punch—and would be severely faded by nightfall.

…

…

…

The pond was pretty quiet as usual, Charles and his friends were probably at the movies. I tromped down the embankment and settled on a flat rock, and began taking out the pole and line. I was there for an hour or so, and all was quiet during that time.

"Well, if it isn't King Peter." the tell-tale voice broke the solitude.

I rolled my eyes and grinned. "Hello, Leyli."

"It's Elizabeth," she corrected lightly, coming out from the line of trees. She walked in front of me, bowed, and then sat next to me.

"Yeah, um, Elizabeth?" I said. "The bowing thing doesn't really need to happen. We're in England, remember? We're just kids in school on holiday."

"I know." She said, smoothing out her ugly plaid skirt. "But I'm still used to it. Kind of. Well…let's just say I prefer you as my High King than the jerk who kissed me in the sad-attempt-of-a-Shakespearian-play that our schools had."

I winced. "That's a thing of the past. Let's not bring up my immaturity."

"Had it been a decade or so earlier, I would have enjoyed it."

"Um, please. Closed subject."

"I barely remember being a Naiad in Narnia," she confessed, looking at me. "Do you remember being King?"

"That's my problem, lately," I said, relieved to have someone to talk to other than my brother and sisters. "I can't remember what it was like being _British_. I am really having a hard time adjusting. I had it all figured out, I thought, until…"

"Until this summer," finished Leyli. "I've noticed. I was a bit concerned when you didn't have a birthday celebration."

"I was a little depressed," I admitted. "Plus my dad was shipping out again that week…and I didn't want to do anything to take away time with him."

"You're dad's fighting again?" Leyli asked sorrowfully.

"Well, not fighting, yet, anyway. He's just back in the service now that the leg is healed. But he's gone…wherever it is they send them."

"Ah," she replied. There was a long silence, but it was comfortable. We were both wishing we could go back.

"I know you are going back one day," she said suddenly.

"Really?" I said, rather hopefully.

"Yes."

"What about you? You're a native."

"I don't think so."

"Why not?"

"I don't deserve to be there. I betrayed Narnia. I gave your Highness and your brother over to the Wolves. And that awful Hag…and, if it wasn't for me, Kanna could have lived. No!" she concluded, bitterly. "I won't be going back."

"I wish you'd just forgive yourself and get ON with it," I snapped. "I forgave you, and you offended me the most. Can't you do the same?"

"I've forgiven myself, silly," Elizabeth said in a very much Leyli voice. "I'm just stating facts. I won't be going back because Aslan wants me here."

"Okay," I said, not wanting to argue. "So, you never did tell me how you got back."

"Magic."

"Other than that."

"Oh, that," she said carelessly, "I was in the servants quarters. I thought I heard a bird singing in my wardrobe. So I opened it, went inside, and found myself in that patch of trees…" she pointed.

"How ironic!" I murmured. A wardrobe, indeed!

"I stumbled about for awhile," she continued, "I nearly got ran over by a few automobiles, and sat on steps of a house. A woman came out and shouted 'Elizabeth Marian Rutherford! You get inside this instant! It's past your dinner hour, and you'll catch your death. Don't give me that look, I know, it's summer, but it's chilly out tonight. Come inside. Your father has been wondering where you've been. It's his birthday, you know. Your package is on the table and he wanted to open it with you here'."

"Odd," I commented.

"And that's not all," Elizabeth continued, "I panicked, and figured it must have been a mistaken identity. I decided they must have a daughter that looks just like me. But then, throughout the evening, they mentioned little things that had happened in my childhood."

"Huh?"

"Well, during dinner, the father suddenly goes; 'Oh! Remember the time when you were little, sweetheart, and you broke your toe? You still have that scar, don't you? Well, I remember how bravely you bore it, and I decided I would never complain again because a seven-year-old could handle a broken bone with not so much as a sniffle. So that's why I am not complaining about turning forty-two."

"Hmm," I said.

"I remembered everything he said, as if it really had happened," Elizabeth said, "But it had happened in Narnia. Except I remembered him. And then memories began to drift back, a fictional life woven by Aslan to settle me here. And he came to me in a dream to tell me everything was going to be all right."

"Incredible," I breathed. "I wish he came to me in dreams like that!"

"I dream about Narnia all the time," Elizabeth smiled.

"Me too," I said, feeling thoughtful. "So why did you nearly drown that one time I went fishing?"

"Apparently, Elizabeth has always been a bad swimmer."

"That is very peculiar, Elizabeth," I told her.

"Leyli," she corrected.

I opened my mouth, then shut it again. She still changes her mind as rapidly as she did back then. There is no use in arguing.

"Well, I should be off, it's getting dark," Leyli said after a moment. She stood and bowed. "Did you have a fight today?" she asked curiously.

"Yes," I said, without hesitation. She wouldn't tell.

"As Peter, or High King Peter?" she asked carefully, raising her eyebrows.

"That's the trouble," I said, "I'm not sure anymore."

"Oh," she said, turning. "Farewell!" she waved and scampered away.

"Goodnight," I sighed. I began collecting my things and heading back home.

…

…

…

The dream began dark, so I thought I was sleeping without dreams at all. A blue light filtered in so I could see my surroundings, but even that did not aid me well. I could see a grate in front of me, a criss-cross pattern of bars.

I stepped towards them and reached out to touch them. Suddenly, a silver hand thrust itself out, craning to touch me. I cried out in fright. Another hand came out—this time, it was a large brown one high above my head. Then another hand appeared over to the left, it was a pale hand with tinges of red hair on the back of it. Then there was a fourth hand—and this was the most frightening. It was a child's hand. Suddenly, there were thousands of hands—all protruding from the iron pattern, straining for touch.

It was this moment when I realized the air was filled with horrid, frightening screams. The people behind the bars were trying to get out, I realized. I was their last hope. I held the path to escape. They were all crying for me to help them.

I looked around, but there was nothing but blackness.

They were all going to die.

Then, there was a new sound: a sound of arrows whistling through the air. One by one, there was a wrenching screech, and a hand would jerk back and disappear. This kept happening until all the hands were gone and there was a complete, total silence.

The silence rose higher and higher in pitch until I realized it was one last scream.

I woke up very slowly, blinking rapidly to try and get my bearings. It was dark and quiet, with light snores from Susan down the hall.

A hand reached out and touched my shoulder. Remembering the dream, I gasped in surprise and jerked away.

"Peter, old fellow, you alright?" Edmund said, sitting at the edge of my bed. "You sound like you've been running the Steeple Chase."

I turned over. "It was just a dream."

"Remember when I was having nightmares about the Witch?" Ed asked. "They wouldn't end until I had talked it over and done something about the guilt I felt. Don't you think the same thing would work for you?"

"But, it isn't something that HAS happened, Ed," I whispered. "It's just a thing."

"Okay…" Ed replied, unsure.

"Go back to sleep. I'm fine," I said, looking over my shoulder at him. "Don't worry."

"Goodnight," Ed whispered, getting up.

Within moments, I was asleep again, but it was fitful and full of whisperings from trees and blades of thin grass. When the darkness finally took over completely, it was already time to wake up for breakfast.

* * *

**Wow, LONG chapter for you guys! I may not be able to update for a week or so, I have finals coming up. So yeah please review! Reviews are what KEEP ME WRITING! And its easy, too! Like, three words from you can get one-thousand from me. :-)**

**God Bless!**

**Further up and further in!**

**Pip**


	3. Summer Work

**Hey you guys, **

**Thanks so much for all your reviews! I must say this is the most I've ever gotten for only two chapters. Your support means a lot. **

**God Bless,**

**Further up and further in!**

**Pippin**

* * *

**Sorry for the long delay. I forgot I had this chapter waiting to be posted! I wrote it during the last month of school in what little spare time I had and forgot to post it. It is a very short chapter, just to warn you, but more about that afterwards. ****Chapter 3, Summer Work**

* * *

Answers to Questions:

I don't think I will be doing Edmund's POV for VDT. These epic-long-POVs are going to be for Peter. A third one may be done if they ever make The Last Battle (because Peter IS in that one). But that is a very slim possibility. I wasn't too keen on making this series, something more along the lines of a blockbuster and a sequel. We'll see, though, I'll never say never.

* * *

I always wake up from the iron-barred nightmare with the crying hands when it is still dark outside. After a few moments, I drift back to sleep and wake when the sun is up. I wait for the golden chime of bells ringing for seven thirty AM, and when it doesn't happen, I lay in bed feeling disoriented.

Then, my alarm clangs shrilly to signal eight thirty AM. I was never much of an early riser, but I was used to awakening for kingly duties much earlier. I had to settle for eight thirty—if I slept in any later, I felt lazy and tired for the rest of the day—even if it _was_ the holidays.

When Knightly doesn't bring breakfast in, I have to clear my head and try to think like a normal kid. I pick out my clothes for the day, which normally consists of brown pants, a white shirt, sometimes a gray sweater. Drab and boring. Nothing bright gold and crimson to show loyalty to him. It looks like I'm showing loyalty to moles instead.

I quietly go downstairs and eat my breakfast, while Mother tries to quiz me about my plans for the day. It's the same thing every day; "I don't know Mum. Maybe I'll go out and get some air. Fish, or walk, or something…"

Lucy and I, as if on an invisible pull, always meet in the loo at the same time and brush our teeth. Sometimes we'll joke around with mouths full of froth and laugh and just generally be silly.

After that, I have few choices of what to do: read, bike, write in my journal, walk, garden, pout, listen to the radio, or run errands for Mother. Once in a while, Susan and I study for the upcoming summer term, Lucy wants help creating faun paper dolls, or Ed wants to have a fencing match in the back yard.

These activities take up most of the afternoon—sometimes in the evenings, I go to the movies with my friends or a local dance. Those are pretty pointless though, unless Leyli—I mean, Elizabeth—is there to ask me to dance, because no one else does. I feel more comfortable dancing with her, anyway, since all the other girls are sappy emotional damsels and I've known her longest. Thirdly, dances only come once in a while, so I can't guarantee THAT to fill my evening.

One afternoon, though, my daily routine of repetitive dreariness ended. I biked a lot longer than usual and found myself on a lonely country lane, winding through dewy green hills and misty woods. A signpost arose in the distance that stated, "London Green Stables. Apply within."

What a better way to spend my exhaustingly gray life! I'll get a job!

I turned the bike and pedaled down the brown road, passing through a tree lined drive that circled by three overlarge stables, a small manor, and acres of pastureland. Three brown heads with ears pricked popped out of stall windows and nickered at my arrival. I grinned at them and hopped off my bike, leaned it against a tree, and began walking down the rest of the drive.

Suddenly, a lively red horse burst from the stable wearing a black halter and a lead rope trailing behind like a snake. He cantered towards me, looking like an excited runaway.

"STOP HIM!" shouted a voice. "Someone shut the bloody gate!"

Well, I was the only one out front, and the horse would beat me to the gate. (It was a little faster, after all!) So I held out my hands and stepped in the horses' path. It veered away from me and careened to the right, planting its feet in a stubborn stance. I grabbed the flailing rope and dug my heels in, hoping to calm him. The groomsman came running out from the stable entrance.

The horse huffed angrily and jerked its head from side to side, wrenching me back and forth from my hold on the rope. I began bringing the rope in until I held all the slack and could grasp his halter.

"Thanks little fella," said the groomsman in a heavy Cockney accent, "I'm impressed, I is. And rather grateful I don't hafta chase the orse."

"You're welcome," I said, reluctant to hand over the rope. I'd missed the feeling of the beautiful, graceful beast tugging at the other end of reigns. "Sir," I said, when he accepted the rope, "I would like a job here."

The man laughed. "Well, now, let's go discuss business, then! Lemme jest put High Boot over in 'is box stall like he's supposedtah."

….

….

….

….

We seated in a comfortable, shabby office that wasn't more than a converted tack room. A desk lay littered with papers, and shelves along the ceiling sported dozens of trophies. One even said second place winner of the Steeple Chase!

"So, what kind of experience ye got with orses?" the groomsman asked, having introduced himself as Mr. Quigsley.

"Well, I've had a lot of riding experience," I did the math in my head—only two years at age fourteen in the real world, nearly ten in Narnia… "A little over seven years." I compromised. "But during the air raids, they were my only source of transportation, so…" I wasn't doing too well. "I know how to properly groom them, clean them up, use saddles and straps and gear…" I paused, and he nodded for me to continue. "I can train, jump, do cross country…" one more thing, and I smiled grimly when I said it. "I can shovel horse manure."

Mr. Quigsley laughed heartily. "That's good news, yessir, right good news."

"Can you use me, then?"

"Can you report at four every afternoon?"

"Yes, sir. I can only stay until summer term, though, because I have to go back to school…"

"That's jest fine."

"Thank-you," I shook his hand. "I needed this."

"Most young en's do!"

"Goodbye," I turned and left.

Walking to my bike, I couldn't help but whistle cheerfully.

_Thanks, Aslan._

* * *

**I know, its short, but its more of a drabble/filler chapter. We'll have a bit of fun at the stable for Peter's last month of summer and then ship him off to Narnia!**

**Read and Review, or I send the Werewolf to sleep on your doorstep and wait for you!! OOOOOOH!!**


	4. Anger, Love, and Figuring Life

**Dear Reviewers,**

**In the film, Susan asks about the fight, "What was it THIS time?" therefore, I gathered, the fighting happened more than once. As I immensely enjoy writing fight scenes, there will be another fight. YAY! Don't get annoyed, it's the last one till the station.**

**About the timeline for future reference: I am staying true to the book, so when they get to the How, Susan and Lucy will disappear with Aslan, and Peter and Edmund will immediately go find Caspian and his White Witch episode. The Night Raid will happen after, and then after that, the Duel, etc…**

**Just so you know, in case you are confused on the usage of the word 'crap'… Well, it did exist back then, but you rarely hear it—especially in the old movies—because it is considered once of those words you were not supposed to say. If PG-13 existed in 1940s England, if someone said crap it would have gone 'up there'. Funny how things change, isn't it?**

**Just to warn you all, Peter is going to have a little crush in this chapter. Sometimes I feel like I've created an inhuman character just because nobody knows anything about Peter's love life. Well, have no fear, it's just a love-bite and the average thing hormonal teenage boys go through. Just trust me with it and I won't blow it up in your faces. I will stay true to Peter's stubborn, unreasonable, charismatic character—I promise! ;-)**

**Thank-you for all of your kindest reviews. It's good to be back! God bless! **

**--Pippin**

* * *

**Chapter 4, Anger, Love, and Figuring Life**

In my first week of working at the stables, I reported at four in the afternoon for two hour of average chores. By the second week, two stable boys came down with a weird summer case of influenza so I began working all day.

I was shoveling manure for four hours straight, going home for an hour or so at noontime, and then returning to the stables for another five hours of shoveling. The pay was good, so I didn't complain. Except of course when it grew uncomfortably hot and no one was around, I moaned and groaned, convinced I was not going to live through the afternoon.

But live I did, and exhausted every night I was, so nightmares ceased to bother me for some time. If I ever dreamed, it was of random things, like the President's white-coloured house in America or a walking jar of preserved peaches. I think the distance between Edmund and I was a good thing. I didn't know what was happening with our relationship, but we had been fighting a lot lately. And I, somehow, always turned out to be the bad guy. It seemed I couldn't do anything right, which bothered me, and me working away from Ed seemed like a good solution. I hurt his feelings less often that way. And when I returned home in the evenings, I had no strength to be randomly cruel to my ever-enduring brother. _I think that kid is some sort of saint._

I got to know the occupants of the stable the longer I worked there (the animal ones). Tricia-Mae was allergic to carrots. St. Patrick had a mean temper and broke any foot to come near him. Marches Beat was a sullen old nag whose racing days were long gone. Yellow Boy was famous, but I had no idea why. Zephyr's Triumph was a hopeful for next years' Steeple Chase. However, the most I ever did with these horses was merely a pat on the nose as I walked by (except St. Patrick). I was not permitted to work with the boarders.

Mr. Quigsley had an old workhorse that I was allowed to care for, mostly just because he was busy taking care of all the other expensive ones. I used her for errands that I had once in a while—like riding two miles down the length of fence to open the gate at its end and retrieve a horse for a shoeing. These times were rare but I enjoyed them immensely. It was the only thing that felt like Narnia. Except for the air—the air wasn't sweet enough. It just smelled like barley hay and horses. A warm and cozy smell to be sure, but it didn't have that Narnian touch, which had always reminded me of apples—the sweet kinds you find crushed in the ground before their time.

The day I got into some trouble certainly smelled nothing like Narnia… I was working for two hours in of old wet manure six inches deep. I'd long abandoned my shirt, hung it on a hook in the wall for lead-ropes, and wiped my sopping bangs from my head dozens of times. The flies were getting awful thick in the air. I was a miserable sight and smell, I'm sure. It was reported one of the hottest summers in Finchley County. I couldn't quite say I enjoyed it.

From the stall I was in, I heard a chortle of laughter and knew trouble was coming. The laughter belonged to Hugh Peters and his lads; Gus Haney, Rick Moseley, and Jim—Rick's brother. They weren't in the main stable very often where the boarders stayed; they had better duties to do. They worked in the training ring with champions, doctored sick horses out in the pastures, and played midwife to the brood mares in the breeding stable. They were rarely in my neck of the woods, but when they ever were, they made sure I knew my place. They said little things to make me feel inferior (but those never worked!) like, "Keeping the floor here clean so we can walk on it?" or "how's that little nag of Q's?" and things like, "you did bathe after you worked yesterday, DIDN'T you?" Mostly, I just ignored them. But I was getting a little fed up.

"Well, if it isn't Peter Pevensie," said Hugh, leaning against the doorframe and looking in.

"Hey Pete!" said Jim, being a kid Lucy's age and not knowing it was against the gang's creed to be friendly. "Shore is hot t'day, ain't it?"

"Understatement," I grunted, heaving an extra large shovel-full of rotting dung into the wheelbarrow.

"Do ya exercise, Peter, to keep in shape for this loada work?" asked Hugh, smiling casually.

"Every day," I gritted my teeth to keep back sarcasm. I didn't want to face Susan again with a black eye, begging her not to tell.

"Really? 'Cain't tell." Hugh looked to the other boys. "Come'n, less go."

"Mr. Pevensie?" said Mr. Quigsley's voice, appearing quite suddenly.

I straightened up immediately. "Yes, sir?"

"You get to prove yer horsemanship ye tol' me of," he replied with a wink and a grin, "I got a feller comin' to see his 'orse put through his paces. I want you to get Yellow Boy all pretty lookin' and take him to the track. This feller comin' is none other than Owen Bennet…"

Hugh, and all the other boys, sucked in gasps and looked at me.

"Yes, sir," I said respectfully, not knowing who in Aslan's name he was talking about, but acknowledging the gravity of the situation. Important man means money, and money means business, and business means taking care of the important man's horse. It really wasn't my place to ask questions—and remembering that was harder than I thought. I couldn't demand explanations, declare a law, or insist they list their family tree.

"Forty-five minutes to finish muckin' out," Mr. Quigsley explained, "Meet you by Yellow Boy's box stall by that time. The clock'll chime and let ya know when to skeedaddle over to me."

"Yes, sir," I said a third time, stupidly wishing someone may call me sir—even accidently—just once. I missed respect from others a lot. I didn't get it much anymore. Either way, I didn't get tired of saying it to my boss. It seemed only proper. _I am the subject, he gets to be king here. Lucky. _

Mr. Quiglsey was soon out of sight when Rick and Gus burst into excited chatter at the same time.

"Owen! Of all people! God almighty, he normally sends some kind of butler or secretary to check his own horse…"

"God, you're lucky, Dung-Boy. You're moving up."

I continued working and ignored their over-exuberant noise.

"I've been here the longest," said Hugh gruffly, silencing the others. "I should have been the one to do this. Yellow Boy is a fortune—he's a prize winner!"

"He's also just a horse," I paused and looked up at him. "Nothing to get upset about."

"You are so ignorant it's not even funny like it used to be," Hugh said haughtily. "Don't you know who Owen is?"

I shrugged. I had hoped no one would ask. I may have known, once upon a time, but I had been away from the World—eight, nine, ten years or something? "How could I be expected to remember something so trivial?"

"TRIVIAL?" cried Hugh.

"Did I say that out loud?" I mumbled to myself. _Blast it!_

"You aren't even fit to brush the snarls in Yellow Boy's tail," Hugh chuckled. "Especially if you don't know who Owen is. Mr. Q probably mixed something up. I doubt the horse crap boy is supposed to go at all. You're just a mistake."

"I think the only mistake that happened today," I burst out, "was that Mr. Quigsley forgot to give you the day off so you wouldn't be loafing around blowing steam because you're jealous."

Hugh glared.

"Poor Hugh," I whined, shoveling with greater speed. "Losing favor with the boss. How will you cope? Who knows—maybe Mr. Quigsley will let YOU comb the tangles from Yellow Boy's tail."

Hugh was lunging for me, but all the other boys held him back.

"Cut it out, Hugh!" begged Jim. "Pete, come on, give him a break."

"Oh, he's had a break," I snapped, too angry now to pull back. "In fact, I wonder if any of his work has gotten done today at all."

Hugh began to rave, "Get out here, Peter Pevensie! I'll show you a break!"

"No thanks, I've got work to do and famous people to please," I shot back. "And maybe a bonus to get with my paycheck at the end of the day."

Gus came into the stall. "Get out here, boy!" he grabbed the back of my neck and shoved me towards the door.

"Get off me," I pushed his arm away. Gus threw a punch in my ribs, and surprised with the attack—I wasn't honestly expecting a fight—I fell out of the stall into the dusty aisle. I hoped for some trash talking, a lunge, and then the others would pull us back and beg us not to kill each other. _I wasn't supposed to get into a fight! Why do I have such a big, rude mouth?_

Hugh was at me in a minute, and soon we were on the ground in more of a wrestling match than a fistfight. The other boys formed a loose circle around us, cheering and screaming lustily. Good thing the barn was empty of horses (they were out for their afternoon pasture time) otherwise we'd get a horde of angry groomsmen to conjure with.

Hugh delved a particularly good shot with his fist into the side of my head. My temple began to throb immediately. I threw my weight forward and used him as a springboard to help myself to my feet. He jumped too and punched my cheekbone. I was too slow for him. I wasn't getting in enough hits. I was on pure defensive…but I wasn't sure I wanted to look like a pulp.

I tried to step away from Hugh. "Okay, I apologize for the spiteful…"

A punch in the gut.

I gasped. "Are you crazy?"

"He's jealous of you, Petey!" called little Jim. "Q likes ya an' tol' Hugh he was gonna fire 'em soon!"

Hugh whirled away from me and jumped for Jim. "Shut up, you smart a—"

"Leave the kid alone," I hollered after him. Jim looked frightened beyond all reason. "Weak enough to go after kids instead of people your own size?" I taunted. Hugh turned back to me.

"You wanna fight for 'em?" he snarled.

"You're an awful sissy, Jimmy," Rick said to his brother in a disappointed voice. Abruptly I wondered, due to the terrible things Rick said to Jim, if he was going to end up like Edmund a year ago—bitter, cruel...and a traitor.

I fell at Hugh and made swings right and left. Both collided on either end of his skull. He pulled back, regained his footing, and threw another punch. I ducked and rammed into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Soon we were on the ground again, hitting and kicking. Hugh flipped over and put his arm around my neck and held me in a chokehold. I started elbowing Hugh as hard as I could in the stomach, and when that didn't work, I drew my arm back and felt for his face. When I was sure where it was, I elbowed him in the nose. There was a terrible popping sound and Hugh released my neck. I rolled away from him and gasped for breath, rather pleased with how the fight turned in my favor. Hugh sat up and held his nose, grunting. Blood seeped between his fingers in scarlet drops and dribbled down his wrists.

"Finished, Hugh?" I stammered.

Hugh looked at me with all the hatred a kid his size could possess. His glare almost reminded me of a Calormene—having anger that builds up until he has no control over himself, like an animal.

"Hold him," Hugh said simply.

I reacted faster than I thought I would—I was on my feet in a minute, flipped around and hit Gus in the jaw as he leapt for me. Rick came up from behind and wrapped his arms around my waist—and being much bigger than I am—tried to throw me to the ground. I staggered and grabbed his arms, pulled them away, and twisted around so that they, in turn, twisted and were slightly useless. Rick tried to rip his arms from my grip. Gus kicked me, hard, in the side of the knee. I tumbled to the ground, and all three overpowered me.

Poor Jim was yelling in his squeaky voice, "Stop it! Stop it, I say! Ricky, I'm gonna tell Mama! I'm gonna kill ya!"

"Shut up, baby," Rick said, pulling away. "We'll leave you deader' than your dear old Petey if you tell Mama. I'll drown that kitten of yers, too!"

From a blurry eye, I could see Jim's eyes well up with tears. He turned and ran down the aisle and disappeared. Rick soon followed him._ I hope he hides his kitten._

Hugh delivered a final stomp on my left elbow, the one I'd always had a little trouble with since the Northern Giants invaded the moors. None of my scars remained from that event, but I could still feel the effects of multiple breaks that healed almost perfect—but not quite. "Ouch!" I yelped as I grabbed his ankle and yanked, succeeding in tripping him only.

"Filth," said Hugh, spitting, turning, and walking away. Gus stepped on me and walked after him, trying to pucker his lips and begin whistling. When he found he couldn't, he growled with frustration. Soon they were all gone.

"Well," I mumbled out loud to myself, gingerly sitting up. "That was exciting." I winced when I moved my left arm, but luckily, they hadn't exactly been packing power punches—so I got away with less damage I thought I would.

I stumbled back to the stall and tried to resume working. It was hard because I was being a sissy and I wanted to whine and dab my cut lip, and I had no one to complain to, but I survived.

Eventually, I heard cheerful whistling and Esmeralda, Mr. Quigsley's daughter, walked by with a bucket of water. She stopped, backtracked, and stepped in the door.

"Would you care to wet your whistle?" she asked kindly, holding out a tin cup. I knew Esmeralda from church, and only a few days ago I had made the connection that an old friend was my boss's daughter.

"Uh huh," I said, keeping my head ducked. "Thank-you!" I took the cup, dipped it in, and swished the water around my mouth. Then I spit it out and it ran red against the white sawdust bedding.

"My lands," Esmeralda said dryly, "Lose a tooth?"

"Oh," I replied, "I didn't check!" I put a finger against my cheek and felt. "Nope, feels fine," I muttered, feeling the other cheek. Bruised, but I didn't feel any odd gaps in the hard bone underneath.

"Fought with the lads, did you?" Esmeralda asked sympathetically.

"They won," I admitted.

"I'm sorry!" she said cheerfully, patting my left arm.

I inhaled a little too fast and pulled my arm away. _Giants. Invasion. War. Battle Scars. Fighting in the aisle of a stable with three over-sized children. Hmmm…_

"Well, aren't you just a crushed peach," Esmeralda grinned. "Too bad I missed it. I would have joined in!"

I stared at her. "Ladies ought not to fight." _Well, unless you're a foreign warrior queen about sixteen years of age and stubborn about a visit to Archenland…_

"Because we're not as strong or fast?" Esmeralda finished. "I don't think I ought to remind you of the time we…"

I cringed at the memory. "Don't remind me. I was little and didn't know it was wrong to hit a girl."

"That's not why you don't like to be reminded," Esmeralda quipped, "It's because I beat you, hands down! In the churchyard in front of your parents! The reverend was very offended! Edmund wouldn't stop teasing you for weeks! That is one of my fondest childhood memories."

"Well, thank-you for sharing, but I have work to do." I tossed the cup back into the bucket. It clattered inside and I took my shovel again.

Esmeralda considered me for a moment. "You have to meet Father soon, don't you?"

"Yes," I dumped the load into the wheelbarrow.

"Alright! I will fetch you a bit of ice from the icebox, a rag and…" she paused. "A needle and thread."

I froze. "Why?"

"Because THAT," she grabbed my chin, forced it up, and looked at my lip with the appraising, airish look of a physician. "Needs stitches." I could tell she was joshing.

"It does not," I laughed. "You just want an excuse to be the nurse. After all your schooling, why not get a job at the hospital or something? It's better than chasing around stable boys trying to patch us up after a squabble."

Esmeralda smiled, but there was something off about it.

"What's wrong?" I sighed. "Was that rude of me?"

"What do you mean?" she said indignantly.

"A shadow passed across your face," I persisted. "I've known you for years, E, so you'd think I can tell when…"

"There is nothing wrong, but," Esmeralda smiled at me. "I just wasn't going to tell you—yet. But I think I will since we're on the subject. Peter…I've joined the Red Cross."

"That's nice," I encouraged, "My mum does that too…"

"No, you don't understand," she interjected, "I'm not volunteering spare time whenever I feel it's a convenience for me. I am not rolling bandages because I have no other medical skills. I am leaving England with a troop of nurses."

"Oh!" I exclaimed, hit by an immediate measure of sadness. "That's quite…different."

"We're going somewhere in the Pacific area. There will be lots of…American navy chaps." She winked at me. "Maybe I'll come back with a beau."

I felt a twinge of—jealously? Discomfort? _My little old friend Esme…with a beau? American boys? On the other side of the continent?_

"Hmph," I said, avoiding her gaze.

"Why would you care?" Esmeralda hinted. "You never took me out for a date."

"We could change that," I replied meekly.

"I don't think I'd go." She whirled and went for supplies. She came back again sometime later but didn't say anything more, just handed me a wet rag and chunk of ice. I iced my lip, wiped some of the stable floor dirt away, and felt as good as new. She gave me a quick hug before she left me, then I had to go help Mr. Quigsley. When I was finished working with Yellow Boy, I made a mental note to seek her out and do the absolute unthinkable—I was going to ask for her telephone number.

--

"Edmund!" I slammed the front door, startling my family at the dinner table. Susan jumped a foot high especially. "Oh!" I said, subdued. I didn't want this to be a family announcement. "Hullo, everyone."

"What's going on, Pete?" asked Ed curiously.

"Nothing, talk to you later, nothing important," I said hastily. I ran over and practically jumped into my chair.

"You're a little later than I expected…" Mum trailed off in an irritated voice. "I don't like you cycling on those rutty country roads in the dark. "

"Sorry, Mum," I said, dishing myself up some potatoes. "I was detained at work today. I was leading a horse around for a good hour and a half. I had to show his basic obedience, hold him while they trimmed his hooves, then the owner offered to hire me for jockeying—then decided I was way too tall for it—oh, and Hugh and his boys decided to pummel me, that's why my lip looks funny, and I also had to water sixteen horses in the brood mare barn because they are ALL pregnant and grumpy as a wet…."

"Peter," Mum said tiredly, "Don't forget to breathe. And eat your dinner—it's probably cold already."

"Yes Mum," I said quietly, setting to it with renewed fervor. I made very light of the subject about the fight, knowing Mum was stressed and probably wouldn't pursue a discussion. Susan was staring at me, shaking her head slightly with disappointment.

"May I be excused, Mother?" she asked in an over-polite voice.

"Yes," said Mum, looking curious but too weary to question. But I knew why Susan was unhappy—she knew I'd been fighting before, and knew it wasn't just wrestling, or a friendly boxing match…it was my second offense, technically.

"So, how was YOUR day, Mum?" I said between bites.

--

"EDMUND!" I hissed, "Walk with me."

Edmund scrambled from a puzzle-book he was delving into in the kitchen and followed me out the back door to the garden. I was careful to not let the screen slam shut.

"What gives?" Ed asked, not missing a beat.

"I want to ask Esmeralda out," I said quickly. "But I don't know what to do. She's joined the Red Cross and they're shipping her out to a navy thing somewhere in the Pacific—with lot's of American boys, Ed!"

"She's going to work on one of their ships?" Ed asked confusedly. "What's wrong with her? There is no WAR in the pacific. It's here in Europe!"

"It's because she has no experience," I explained, "She'll be able to work the field in a non-threatening situation. From what she tells me, she's going to a little bunch of southern American islands—pure paradise, I hear—and will be coached along by other nurses needing a break from the front in France."

"You're not going to do something rash, are you?" Ed hiccupped, and his voice shifted to a deep tenor. "Like join the American navy and go on holiday in the south ocean?"

I paused. "Your voice is changing."

Edmund looked at me as if I was a complete idiot. "I know."

"How's it going?"

Ed continued to look at me in disbelief. "I've been through voice changing, puberty, and Aslan knows what else. It's nothing new."

"Sorry, it's always been a significant moment when…"

"Trust me!" Edmund interrupted, "It's nothing exceptional. Go on about Esmeralda." His voice was high again like normal.

"Well, I just want to ask her out before she leaves. I've never been very social. I think…" I spread my arms out, "I am going to step outside my comfortable, boring social box!"

Edmund sniggered. "I have a hard time imagining you a man about town."

"I…got her number," I confessed slyly, feeling elated for my success. I just walked right up, asked her if she had a telephone, asked if she'd mind me calling her up sometime—and within seconds, had the number scratched on a piece of paper.

"This is very peculiar," said Edmund, "But I feel like I should tell you something…"

"What?" I asked.

"Do you ever feel like Aslan kind of wants us to stay bachelors forever?" Edmund said in an embarrassed voice. "I mean, if you are meant to be with a girl—and you find that RIGHT ONE—you're supposed to be totally honest, right?"

"Well, yes," I said doubtfully.

"For better or worse," Edmund added.

"Uh huh."

"But we can't tell anyone about Narnia. One cannot—and WILL NOT—believe in it unless they've been there, waged war against it, or came from one of those parallel places already."

"Your point?" I asked, sounding irritated, but I didn't mean to be.

"So, when you do the math, maybe we're just not supposed to be with anybody," Edmund declared. "After all, then the prophecy would have been a little different. It's not like we were fulfilling IT, it was fulfilling US. If it could have been any English boy, it may have just been an old rhyme about ONE Son of Adam."

"I don't understand!" I exclaimed.

"It was meant for US, brothers and sisters, and NO one else," Edmund said slowly, "So if we were to be with something, it may have been written different. Like for one Son of Adam and his Queen. You could have married some naiad in Narnia and fulfilled the prophecy THAT way…"

"So you're saying I shouldn't ask a girl out just because an ancient prophecy that declared my whole family majesty of a separate world doesn't say the High Kings are attached to anyone else?"

"Kind of, but not that harsh," Edmund slammed his hand on the edge of the small fountain in frustration. "I don't know how to explain it! I wish you'd understand. I just wonder if Aslan wants us to stay single, that's all. What if you wanted to marry E?"

"I am not thinking that far ahead regarding E," I growled.

"But let's say you did," Edmund tried, "What would that do in Narnia—if we ever went back to rule? Would poor E get to sit and watch the rest of us rule the country? She wouldn't even get to be Princess. Or Queen. It's ordained—Two Sons of Adam, Two Daughters of Eve. Adam's flesh and Adam's bone…family. There is no fifth."

"I can't help but feeling you are right," I said slowly, "But it's not 'if' we're going back. It's 'when' we're going back. I just know it!"

"Whatever."

"Don't YOU think so?"

"You're correcting me on something not on the subject, therefore trying to change the subject."

"Okay, I am back on track," I said mockingly. "So. You don't want me to ask her out? What if she comes back with an American beau and I have lost my chance?"

"Do you like her?" Edmund asked.

"Of course I do."

"Can you see yourself marrying her?" Edmund persisted. "Because if not, it's cruel to ask her out. It only toys with the girls emotions. Relationships progress to marriage, so if that isn't an option, don't even start one."

I regarded my little brother with scrutiny. "When did YOU become so wise? You didn't learn it from me, I can guarantee that."

"I grew up, and then shrank, remember?" Edmund said bitterly. "I am not so little anymore." His voice cracked in the middle of 'anymore'. "Are you going to answer my question?"

"Marriage, huh?" I mused. "Yes, I think I could see myself marrying her."

"Ok, so, when we get dragged back to Narnia and all of a sudden your letters stop arriving—you'd break her heart. Do you want to do that?"

I winced. "No. I don't—I can't—do that to her. Your right. I think Narnia is going to keep me a lonely old grouch for the rest of my life—but how I hate it!"

"I know," Edmund touched my shoulder sympathetically.

"I am going to take her out. Once." I whispered.

"Peter…"

"It will be harmless. I'll tell her it's her Going Away present. I'll take her to see the Robin Hood movie with Errol Flynn playing next week, and then we'll go dancing, and I will tell her to pick out a good American beau that I'd approve of."

"Casual?"

"Very casual. I'll tell her it's the brotherly thing to do—even if I'm feeling quite different!"

Edmund grinned. "You'll never be quite honest enough for 'better and worse till death do us part'."

"Guess I'll have to marry Leyli-Elizabeth, then," I said teasingly.

Edmund froze, and we both shuddered in unison.

* * *

**This is a really long chapter, peeps! Twelve pages! Twelve reviews, then…ready…set…GO! Otherwise I send Jadis on a leash with water balloons and lightening rods to tickle you when you least expect it!**


	5. Hard Reality

**Dear Reviewers: **

**Thank-you for your reviews! **

**Writers Block for this story. That's all I'm gonna say. But I missed gettin' into Peter's head, and I'm eager to jump back in (er, the story, not his head. Well technically that too.) Now that Dr. Pepper is all finished (except for the sneak peak, but that's coming) I can be, ahem, more devoted!**

**No angry flames please? I'm bringing it back!**

**Love, Pippin

* * *

**

**Chapter Five, Hard Reality**

I was very slow to ask Esmeralda out for a date—I mulled Edmund's words over in my head; contemplating following through my oath to just take her out on one date. I'd gone on a few dates, which consisted of the lads each 'escorting' some girls to a movie and then the dance afterwards. The girls were all friends and some people escorted girls back home that weren't their 'date' to begin with. No one was singled out, no one was even remotely considered a couple, and we all took turns dancing with the different girls (except me—not so much.) So, no, I don't think it counts.

I delayed the date also because I was tired from work. I'd moved up in level of importance a bit, grooming and shoeing horses, giving prospective dealers tours of the barns, and…mowing the grass out front. Yes, I was practically King of the Stable. Hugh soon disappeared from daily activities, and I didn't bother to ask why. I knew he'd been let go.

One day in late August Mr. Quigsley requested I make a delivery to the Ross household. I had no idea who the Ross's were but followed directions eagerly enough. Sometimes the view from inside the stable did get a LITTLE tiring.

I followed the directions scrawled on the envelope I held until it brought me back into the city, where I pedaled through a very desolate bombsite. People were still digging, repairing, and every once in a while finding the remains of someone who'd been trapped beneath wreckage. It sobered me to remember the night the air raids started and how scared I was. I remember being so worried for Edmund's life when he ran back to the house, but being stupid enough to only call him an idiot for it.

"_Edmund! Y-you're so SELFISH! You could have gotten us killed!"_

I cringed, feeling a little guilty. _Well—its all in the past now. Focus on the task at hand._

I passed through the torn up street as quickly as I could, then came to a trashy neighborhood some referred to as the 'slums'. The houses were small, the yards and fences in terrible condition, and sidewalks and driveways almost unusable.

I found the house number labeled on the dirtiest, run-down house in the bunch. I picked my way carefully through the junk in the yard and stepped carefully to the door. I felt as if I were really intruding on something private—a place so full of despair that it was not meant to be visited.

I reached for the bell, when a strangled scream from inside jolted me from my discouraged reverie. I gasped and stepped back.

"That'll be no breakfast for you anymore, young man!" said the raspy female voice. "You go an get yourself a new job, ya hear? I got seven kids to feed an' you have to go and ruin it all! If ye weren't such a good worker the mister'd of shot you by now! Gist get out and go look! Why are ye standin' there gawking? This ain't your breakfast. GET OUT!"

I heard footsteps thumping towards the door, so I jerked the bell-pull before the door opened and I was found listening with an open mouth.

A rusty, toneless bong sounded, and the footsteps slowed down. They stopped at the door—a curtain guarded the window—but I could see it fluttering from someone breathing on the other side. Who ever it was didn't want to open the door.

I waited.

The doorknob creaked and twisted, the door flew open, and Hugh Peters stood before me. His face was streaked with dirty tears, his eyes were the color of blood, and his clothes were the same ones he wore at the stable.

"Peter?" he said in surprise.

I was surprised too. I didn't know what I was doing, but now…

"I've come to deliver this," I thrust the envelope into his hands. Hugh's eyes bored into mine as he ripped open the envelope and pulled out a cheque.

"Last paycheck," he said ruefully. He put the check back in the envelope and tucked it in his pocket. He glanced at me. "What are you still doing here? You've made your delivery. Got anything else to do? With your JOB?" he spit out the last word angrily.

I grimaced. "Hugh…"

"Go away." Hugh clenched his teeth together.

"I'm, I'm sorry…" I mumbled like a fool.

"GET OUT!" Hugh grabbed my jacket and shoved me down the steps. My first instinct was to pummel him, but I swallowed my temper and let him lead me by the lapel out of the yard and into the muddy street.

"Hugh, I didn't know," I started to say. Hugh pushed me roughly into the road, where I stood dejected, not wanting to jump at him and start another fight.

"You ruined my life!" Hugh pointed an accusing finger at me. "And now you come to _see_ me in my miserable life. With your stupid gloating and your humble attitude—, why do you, can't you just leave us alone—I mean…" Hugh was so angry and embarrassed his words leapt over each other and scrambled into pure fury. He turned abruptly to walk away, then turned towards me again.

"I didn't mean it," he said in a tortured voice. "Sorry. I don't know… I'm…"

"Stop, please," I held up my hands. "Don't say that. It's not true. You're a good person…its just…"

Ignoring me, Hugh turned and kicked the broken picket fence. When he reached the porch, he sat quickly on the step and slumped against the broken railing.

Shaken, I began walking quickly back the way I had come. I wanted to say so much, and yet I had nothing to say at all.

I kept walking. Maybe I should have turned back. _Maybe I'll never know_. I squeezed my eyes shut and whispered, "Aslan, I don't know what to do."

_Go back! Go back now! _I could feel the words pummeling me, pounding in my chest with my heartbeat.

I turned and ran back, trotted through the yard wreckage, and dropped down on the seat next to Hugh.

"Leave me alone," Hugh snapped.

"Hey, um," I said, gulping loudly myself. "I just…I want to say I'm sorry. I would have never, ever made fun of you losing your job if I had known."

Hugh stood up quickly, ran into the house, and slammed the door.

And almost instantly, I knew what I had to do.

….

….

….

….

"Hey Lou," I said that evening, stretching out across the sofa. Lucy sat kneeling at the sitting room table, a pencil that looked too long for her sitting in her hand.

"Hullo," she said distractedly, trying to draw Mr. Tumnus in a sketchbook sent from Dad. The drawing was half-finished and looking positively splendid.

"Mind if I hover?"

"No. You can draw his hands. I'm all rot with his hands."

"Now?"

"No, in a minute. I'm doing his face." She bent over her work, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

"That's really good," I ventured.

"Okay, what?" Lucy put her pencil down and looked at me over her shoulder. "Normally you're great about giving the artist a respectful silence. What happened?"

I laughed a little. "Well, I quit my job."

"Isn't that to be expected? We're leaving for school in a few days."

"No, I mean I really quit it. He won't be holding a spot for me for next summer. And I asked him--no, told him--to rehire Hugh."

"The mean boy?"

"He's just one of the fellows."

"A_ha. _May I ask why?"

"I don't really know why I did it. I just felt like I was supposed to. Intuition, you know."

"Or the little roar in your brain?" Lucy prompted, smiling. She turned back to her drawing. I reached over and brushed her hair away from her face where it fell into her vision.

"Thank-you," she said, erasing an eyebrow and trying again. I sat up, gave her a quick kiss on the top of her head, and whispered, "Why don't you draw the hands, Lucy? Practice makes perfect."

"Go away!" she said irritably.

"Yes, your Highness," I bowed once, just by instinct, and left the room.

"The little roar in your brain?" Mum's voice came from the kitchen as I walked in. I jumped, startled, and gasped.

"Oh!" shrieked Mother. "Sorry, sweetheart."

"It's alright," I straightened my shirt and sat at the table. "You just scared me, is all."

"I couldn't help but overhear Lucy and you."

"Angry about the job?"

"No, it's your choice to work these last few days or not. It won't make the difference. You are leaving awfully soon."

"Yeah. I can't believe the holidays are over already. It by way too quickly."

"Mmhmm. So what was Lucy talking about? The roar in your brain?"

I stood up and walked to the sink. When I had my back to her, I grimaced.

"Ah, I think she was talking about…" I pulled a cup from the cupboard and began to fill it with water. "You know, um, Reverend Oxley was talking about conscience, and referring to the Lion and the Lamb…kind of … um…" I was struggling, and I could hear a definite giggle from the other room. "You know, something like… the roar of reason!"

Lucy let out a sharp laugh. I heard the definite slap of her putting her hand over her mouth.

"Mhm," Mother nodded as if she understood. "So—when are you going to ask Esmeralda out?"

I coughed, shocked and embarrassed. "Mum," I said, "I… don't think I'm going to."

"Why ever not? You're getting older, Peter, and you know someday I'd love to have grandbabies running around the house…"

"Susan's all for the romantic stuff, why do you not press her to have a beau?" I said, blushing.

"She's a young girl," Mum cried, affronted. "I can't even think of her having a steady beau."

"Ah.. alright…" I said, gulping the entire contents of the cup.

"You're not going to ask her out, are you?"

"I think—I think I've decided not to, Mum. I mean, I like her, but it… wouldn't really work."

"How would you know unless you gave it a go, sweetheart?"

"Edmund puts it better than me," I shrugged. "He is a very wise person."

"And so grown up," Mum sighed, "His voice is so deep."

"What have I missed?" I asked glumly. I suppose I'd missed it changing, for the most part, being away from them every day and all day. All I heard was a hiccup or two.

"Well, now he sounds like you," Mother smiled, "He hardly ever squeaks."

"Mhm," I said, shrugging.

"Darling?" Mother said, her voice sounding sad.

"Yes?" I asked curiously, wondering at her change in tone.

"You children need to be begin packing, for school, you know," she took my empty cup and added it to a small stack of dishes in the wash bin. "And we need to purchase your supplies—uniforms—that sort of thing. You're grown nearly three inches, you won't fit those trousers anymore."

"True," I mused, glancing down at my long feet. "School begins so soon."

"Too soon," Mother repeated in that same tone.

"What are your plans?" I asked. "While we're away?"

"Well Lucy will be attending boarding school for the first time," Mum explained, "So I no longer need to stay home in the afternoons. I have plans to join at least three groups. Ladies Aide Society is my first idea, a book club dedicated to Dickens and Chaucer is my second, and perhaps the church hymnal choir."

"So you'll stay busy," I added hopefully.

"I will. Provided that your four don't show up for a surprise visit like you did last year…"

"Forgiven us yet?" I interrupted.

"I've forgiven Lucy," Mum said flippantly, waving a hand. "She was attending day school. There was no reason for her to _not_ show up in the afternoon."

"Although she was the one that called Susan up, I thought," I added cheekily.

"Your memory of that occasion is very hazy, sir!" piped Lucy from the other room.

"Sir," Mother chuckled. "You children do that so often I wonder what kind of manners our old Professor taught you while you were away!"

I let an uncomfortable chuckle burst forth, and then fled—discreetly—from the kitchen, after mumbling about things to do before dinner. As I walked into my room upstairs, and noticed Edmund had gotten our empty luggage from the attic and left them on the floor, I sighed resignedly.

I couldn't believe we were returning to school already. I had hoped this summer—we'd go back, and—no. It was too late. We'd lost our chance this year, we'd be going to school soon, there wouldn't be a good time to be taken away by magic at all!

We must settle for another gray winter in England, with merely the ghosts of memories to keep what was left of Narnia that we remembered alive. Already memories, once sharp and vivid, were fading into darkness like my nightmares. What if we never went back?

I feared if I did not make it back, I would forget Narnia completely.

* * *

**There guys—I'm sorry it was a filler chapter, but I hope perhaps you will be so happy I've come back to the story you won't have any room in your heart for anger?? Who knows. Read and review, peeps! =)**


	6. The End of Summer

**Dearest, kindest, most forgiving of Reviewers:**

**Surely you can find it in the deepest recess of your hearts to forgive my incredibly long absence? All I can say in my defense is that college has overwrought my life with trials and tribulations, and when Christmas break rolled around, I had naught in my head but original stories, so I worked on my own writings instead of fan fiction, save a few Twilighty paragraphs. But as I'm aching to rejoin the Narnians in my own Dr. Pepper style, for now, Peter's epic tale will suffice. And I miss working on this story; so, the inspiration has finally struck again! I return to the land of the living… fan fiction writers, haha. **

**I hope you've all had the merriest of Christmas-es, and a happy New Year. **

**2010—the year of Dawn Treader!**

**Further up and further in,**

**Pip**

**PS: WC=water closet. AKA bathroom.**

**PPS: Country junction scene, most dialogue directly from Prince Caspian text. No plagiarism to C.S. Lewis intended, I give him full credit.**

**

* * *

**

**Chapter 6, The End of Summer**

When I woke up, it was raining.

"Summer's over," I announced gloomily, looking at the other end of the room. The wall was a faded, sage green, dotted with drawings labeled "To Edmund, from Lucy" featuring our friends from Narnia, and us dressed as adult monarchs. A suitcase and a knapsack, freshly packed, sat where Edmund should have been sleeping.

I sleepily moved from my bed to the window as if I walked through molasses. I yawned and wiped the tired tears from the corners of my eyes. Well—it was a given that it rained exceedingly in England, and Finchley was no exception.

But there was something horribly gloomy about the brown-gray weather the morning you knew it was time to leave for school.

"Good, Petey, you're awake," Lucy's head poked through the open door.

I yawned again, stretching, and popping my knuckles.

Lucy's eyebrows squirmed. "Packed yet, are you?"

I looked down at my suitcase—packed, yes, but still open. My knapsack lay next to it, a bit of my uniform scarf sticking out of the flap.

"I suppose?" I mumbled, unbuttoning my shirt. "Lou. Give a fellow some privacy."

Lucy rolled her eyes. "Well—you should have been dressed an hour ago. Mum's packed the sandwiches already. I'll be eating my breakfast!" She shut the door quietly, for which I was grateful. On a particularly groggy morning, it was painful to hear any loud sounds.

I put on my school uniform; relieved to be rid of the gray I was forced to wear last year. Last year was fuzzy—I was in a play, wasn't I? I must've been daft bimbo—I would never, ever do something so stupid ever again. Even if it WAS for a class project and I couldn't refuse the assigned part.

Edmund opened the door. "Navy blue." He said shortly, nodding. "Good colour for us. Brings out your eyes. Makes my skin look flawless." Then he slammed the door as loudly as possible.

"Oh well spotted!" I called after him. "Navy blue, indeed!"

I'd been referring to it as dark blue since we'd purchased them that weekend, and as always, Edmund had to find something to disagree with me about. Blast him.

"You slept in," Susan said in a surprised tone when I met her in the hallway. She wore her burgundy uniform well—I felt uncomfortable with how she did her hair. Sisters shouldn't be pretty! That way we don't have to worry about them attracting all the wrong sorts!

I shrugged. "Alright."

"Another nightmare?" she whispered, her eyes darting to the stairwell. To this day, I had managed to last all summer without alerting Mum to any sort of disturbance to my sleep. It had only happened four times—so I wasn't really worried.

"Oh," I said, "Yeah. It was shorter this time. It wasn't a problem."

Make that five times.

"Made you sleep like a rock, though," Susan said thoughtfully. "I really think it means something. Maybe we will find out what someday."

"It doesn't scare me anymore, at least. The wolf hasn't been in the last few."

Susan adjusted the small parcel in her hands awkwardly. Looking down, she whispered, "I have dreams too, you know."

"Nightmares?" I asked, truly astonished. "Why, Su, you didn't tell us?"

Susan shrugged. "I didn't really want to share them. But, after all, I mean—well, you had another dream last night. I thought I might as well let you know that, um; you're not a freak or anything. It happens to me too. That's all."

She turned to walk away.

"Well, wait, you can't leave me HANGING," I whined with curiosity. "Can't you tell me what they're about?"

"Later," she said shortly. "The WC is mine!" she called loudly.

"Ugh," I said in annoyance. "You're not putting on make-up, are you?"

"Why shouldn't I?" she whirled around, her eyes flashing.

"Well, uh," I backed down. "You're pretty enough without it."

"Puh-lease," Susan pfft. "I'm not _pretty._"

"Yes, you are," I argued. "And you don't need the… uck… the powder, and the rouge, and the—cough—lipstick."

"I never wear those," Susan waved a hand.

"Because you don't need them," I replied.

Susan unwrapped her parcel. "THIS is what I'm using. See this? This is mascara. And this? This is eyeliner."

"It's a matchstick."

"It's eyeliner."

"It's a BURNT matchstick."

"It's eyeliner, PETER. You simply outline the eyes—it gives them shape, makes your eye stand apart from the rest of your face. It's very flattering. All the girls use it. And you just wipe it off when you're at home. When I start working in the seamstress shop near school, I'll be able to afford real eyeliner. They make them into little pencils now. It's an art form."

"Is any of that supposed to matter?" I asked, aghast. "It sounds about as useful as a hanky full of bogies."

Susan turned, without a word, and went into the loo. She slammed the door.

Annoyed, I stomped all the way downstairs.

"Hello, sleepy head," said Mum. She handed me a sandwich. "Pack that before you forget. I can't loan you the money for lunch on the way to the junction—so if you lose that, well, best not be hungry until supper tonight at school."

I put it in the pocket of my long coat. "Packed!"

Lucy sat at the table, staring at her breakfast. It was untouched.

"I thought you said you'd be eating breakfast," I teased her.

She didn't find it quite as amusing. "Not hungry," she said lightly.

"Dear, I know you're nervous—about being in boarding school for the first time, and all," Mum knelt down next to her. "But Susan will be there. And you can phone. I could visit some weekend, too."

Lucy's lower lip trembled. "I don't want to eat my breakfast."

"It's a long train ride, Lucy," Mum said firmly.

"I couldn't possibly stomach it!" Lucy replied. Mum got up, wordlessly. She was almost in the same mood—she didn't want her youngest daughter to leave home, either.

I sat down next to her and spooned a ladle-full of oatmeal into my bowl. _Ugh—why does sugar have to be rationed?_

I added a little milk instead, and tasted it. "Best you've ever made, Mum. It reminds me of Christmas." _Christmas at the Scrubb's, maybe. _

Mum winked. She knew it wasn't very good.

After a moment—as I watched from the corner of my eye—Lucy hesitantly began to eat. She grimaced every so often, for though it didn't taste too horrible, I knew her stomach churned with nerves.

I drove the car to the station. As we parked a block or so away, the raining dribbled to a stop, and the sun came out. The mid morning shine glowed in an unearthly light against sparkling wet stone streets. The sky remained a brown-like, smoky gray, but the buildings and anything made of metal shone gold.

"Now, the train doesn't leave for a half-hour yet," Mum said. "But—I can't stay. I'm sorry. My appointment is in almost ten minutes, I will already be late. I just—I wish I could see you off, is all…"

"Mum, we'll be fine," Lucy said, suddenly plucking up some bravery. "We could wire you later if you want!"

Mum looked pained. I couldn't really understand the feeling of sending ones children off to live at a school for the term, but I could imagine well enough that is was most difficult and heartbreaking.

We all took turns embracing and telling Mum we loved her. Tearful, she dabbed her eyes and got into the car, then drove away.

Lucy wiped her eye discreetly. "Shall we go inside?"

"Yes, let's," Susan said practically. "We can claim a bench right on the platform if we hurry."

Inside, it was crowded and chaotic. I spotted an empty bench miraculously in the hustle and bustle of the wide lobby, where hundreds of people jostled to and fro.

"Let's snatch it!" Edmund voiced my thoughts exactly. Laughing, we made a run for it. Susan beat us there. We all sat down, huffing, and noticed a group of boys looking disappointed that we took up the entire seat.

"Ha ha!" I chortled. After a moment or two of catching our breath, boredom set in.

"Well, you boys can stay with the luggage," Susan announced, standing. "I'm going to have a look at the magazines at the display outside."

"Magazines of what?" Edmund moaned. "Beauties and pageants and all that rot?"

"Social activities," Susan corrected, miffed. "Don't be so superficial." She turned abruptly and trounced away.

The last three of us looked at each other, sighing.

"Is this what you do every year?" Lucy asked. "All this waiting?"

"I guess so?" Edmund said. "Don't worry Lou. Soon you'll forget all this. Going to school is a little like going to Narnia. It's a different world. The parents aren't there, you've got your friends, and you work really hard every day."

Lucy smiled a little. "Thanks, Ed."

I had never thought about it that way—but I suppose it was kind of true. I began to take off my coat. "Well," I sighed again, "I suppose if we are going to be here awhile—might as well be comfortable."

"Hoy, Peter, is that you?" called a voice. I looked over and saw Reginald, flanked by two boys I didn't recognize.

"Reginald," I greeted, nodding politely. I turned back towards my siblings.

"Well, who's that?" Lucy asked pointedly.

"Ah, Reginald," I explained, not really wanting to go into all that. "He and I were in a play for class last year."

Edmund snickered. "AND you kissed Leyli—er, Lizzy."

"Oh, you mean that Elizabeth girl?" Reginald chuckled, coming over and standing in front of us. "She left on the earlier train. Said if I saw you to give you a message."

"Oh really?" I asked, interested.

"She says, ahem," Reginald went into falsetto. "Hullo, Your Majesty, hope you are well, maybe see you at the Library."

"That's funny," Lucy let out the fakest laugh I've ever heard.

"You do that girl voice far too well," Edmund muttered under his breath.

"What'd you say, Pevensie?" Reginald stepped forward.

"Reginald," I said threateningly, "Don't even think about starting anything."

Reginald held up both hands. "That's a fine way to treat a school fellow!" he nudged his thick-muscled friends, mumbling, "See? See what I mean?" and the three of them disappeared out the exit.

"Gosh, he is annoying," Lucy declared. "I see what you mean!"

Edmund burst out laughing.

"Why don't you two stay here, I'll go get us some—I don't know—water, or something." I chuckled, getting up.

"I'll watch the bags I guess," Ed grumbled.

"You can't blame him for wanting to stretch his legs, they are unnaturally long," Lucy chided. Edmund gave her an odd look.

I moved away from the bench into the crowd, checking the time posted on the wall for our train. Twenty minutes till. I looked about for a fountain but didn't see any. I stopped by the entrance to the underground, where a train would take us to a junction, and then two different trains would take us our separate schools. The tiles leading down were faded yellow and dark green. The effect was altogether drab. Well—

Suddenly, I nearly fell over. "Hey, look out," I cried, startled. I looked behind me to see who'd try to shove me down the stairs.

Reginald's two friends were standing there, grinning absently.

"Oh, you two," I felt heat in my cheeks. That little temper of mine, though flaring whenever I least wanted to lose it, began to take shape. "I'll uh, just be going now…"

One of the boys stopped me with an arm across the chest. "Hold up, you clumsy oaf," he sneered. "You haven't apologized."

"Neither have you!" I replied shortly. "Now if you'll EXCUSE me…"

"Apologize. First," said the other boy. "Then you can go."

"Thank-you, but no," I said angrily. "You deliberately shoved me. Now if you won't let me pass, I'll simply go… downstairs." I liked improvising. If I walked down the platform, I'd come to a second stairway that led back to the lobby. Susan would be proud of me avoiding the situation.

I turned and went down the stairs. When I reached the bottom, suddenly someone caught me by the back of my shirt and knocked me over. I landed with a huff on my hands and knees.

"Really now," I mumbled, standing and trying to fix my shirt. I glanced up, and noticed Lucy standing at the top. She looked at me, then at the boys, wide-eyed. Discreetly, she mouthed, "I'm getting Susan!" and disappeared.

_Oh, great._

"I still haven't heard that apology," said one of the boys. They had both followed me down.

"And you won't," I snapped, glaring at him. "You're just asking for trouble! I'm through with all that!"

"Heard you've got a bit of a rep, though," said one. "Fought that Hugh fellow, didn't you?"

"The rat bait kid," the other boy clarified.

"He's not rat bait," I corrected, balling my hands into fists. "Watch your words."

"And the grocers' son," added the other.

"It was his SON?" I laughed.

"So it's true," said the boy.

"More or less," I replied tersely.

"And," said the second boy, "You have a right gorgeous sister too, now, don't you?"

I clamped my mouth shut. I wasn't expecting THAT.

"Aw, you think she's ugly?" said the first boy. "You're a horrible brother."

"Tell you what," said the second, "If you apologize to us for your clumsy behaviour, we won't go upstairs and talk to her."

"She doesn't pay attention to swine like you," I growled, a little worried she would, if they played their charm right.

The first leaned forward, a malicious smirk about his chapped lips. "She doesn't need to pay attention—just be physically attractive. She doesn't even need to be _conscious _for _us_." The implication was as obvious as it was dirty, wrong, and disgusting.

Everything inside my heart, brain, and soul exploded at once in a desperate, almost clawing, anger. I threw myself at him, knocking him against the wall. Within a moment, we were fighting blatantly, fist to mouth, kick to shin, and tackle to shove.

With cheers of "Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!" kids from all over the place heard the sounds of our miniature battle and surrounded us, cheering us on lustily. I could hardly pay attention to anything—I was trying to fight off two muscular boys, whom clearly Reginald had paid off to cause a ruckus. I shook myself out of their grips, and looked up into the crowd. I immediately made eye contact with Susan—she was shaking her head, disappointedly.

_You're welcome._

They grabbed me back and threw me against the ground, kicking me in the ribs. I cried out and grabbed an ankle, jerking it out from under them. The second grabbed me by the hair and shoved my head forward. Instead of contacting floor like I expected, I looked down into the tracks, lying dark and rhythmic against gravel. If a train were to screech and appear from the end of the tunnel…

I heard Lucy's small cry of "Edmund!" and suddenly, I was not fighting two boys, but one. Edmund had thrown himself at the other.

It only lasted a moment, though. Soldiers appeared from nowhere and grabbed the boys off of us, throwing them one direction, picking Ed and I up by the collars of our shirts, and shoving us the opposite direction.

"Act your age," one growled in my face.

Almost as quickly as it had begun, the fight was over.

I felt disgusted with myself. Act my age, indeed. _Sure! I had acted my age, if I had lived in Narnia._

The fact of the matter is, having a soldier tell me to act my age made me ashamed. Maybe I shouldn't even be returning to school. I should be joining the army or something, where I could fight for a reason other than defending Queen Susan the Gentle's honor.

Silently, I followed the crowd of jeering kids, that were now hushed and eyeing the soldiers. The soldiers shook their heads, annoyed, and disappeared. Susan and Lucy stayed ahead, almost acting as if they didn't know us.

Within moments, we had collected our suitcases, and placed them alongside an empty bench at the underground platform. Wordlessly, all of us could agree that it would be better to wait closer to the train than go back up in the crowds, and possibly run into any more trouble makers.

Dreary, the feeling of school terms beginning to cause a dreadful mood, everyone sat down heavily. No one really looked at me.

Edmund gave me a look, as if trying to communicate with me mentally. I raised my eyebrows.

"What?" I mouthed.

"You're welcome," he said out loud, sarcastically.

"I had it sorted," I said shortly, standing back up and focusing on the tracks. I was a very flawed person—Edmund didn't need to join in fights simply on my account. I didn't want Susan to be angry with him as well.

"What was it THIS time?" Susan asked.

"He bumped me," I replied.

"So you hit him?" Lucy exclaimed.

"No!" I protested, turning around and looking at her. "After he bumped me, they tried to make me apologize." Not exactly the truth. I grimaced. "Then I hit him."

"Really is it THAT hard to just walk away?" Susan drawled.

"I shouldn't have to!" I declared passionately. "I mean… don't you ever get tired of being treated like a kid?"

"Uh, we are kids?" Edmund guessed.

"Well I wasn't always," I sighed heavily, shaking my head. Back in Narnia, I was treated like an adult—allowed to use my own instincts, allowed to defend my sisters if I wanted without being labeled immature.

"It's been a year," I murmured, sitting down with them again. "How long does He expect us to wait?" Lucy linked her arm through mine sympathetically. She always understood.

"I think it's time to accept that we live here," Susan said, a tone of despair in her own voice. "There's no use pretending any different."

During the pause that followed, I contemplated her words. Did she really think I was only pretending to believe we'd return? I really did believe we were going back, I was just getting impatient. But I'd stopped looking for opportunities. I had long stopped checking wardrobes.

"Oh no," Susan said softly. "Pretend you're talking to me," she said urgently. I looked at where here gaze was directed. A rather pompous, brainy fellow was walking towards us, but he hadn't appeared to be looking at Susan at all.

"We are talking to you," Edmund said dryly.

Susan gave him a look. From the darkness of the tunnel came the sound of a whistle, and a roar of an engine. Within seconds, the train appeared, it's headlight blinding us for a moment before switching off. With a lone cry, the train chugged to a halt. With a screaming hiss, steam was expelled, and the doors opened. We stood, gathered our things, and waited for the rest of the passengers to disembark.

The brainy-looking boy beat us to the door. He turned and looked at Susan, called, "Aren't you coming, Phyllis?"

I glanced at her, confused. Edmund looked puzzled as well. We boarded the train and found seats just as the doors slid close and the huffing began again. Soon, the train was moving quickly into the tunnel.

The brainy boy sat a few seats behind, staring forlornly at the back of Susan's head.

The fight was forgotten—and even the awkward presence of "Phyllis's" admirer wasn't noticed. We became cheerful again. Traveling on the train, all together, seemed like part of the holidays. Almost—but not quite—like an adventure. We talked and laughed, enjoying the time together before we would split apart.

After an hour or more, the awkward boy moved up a seat.

"Oh, Phyllis?" he asked casually. Susan turned around in her seat, but she looked completely uninterested.

"Yes?" she asked.

"Are you and your sister getting off at Wayside Junction?" he asked hopefully. "I mean since, after all, St. Finbars and Hendon House are so close, I mean, that's where I am stopping."

"Us too," Susan said gloomily.

"Is it the noon train?" he asked hopefully.

"Sorry, no," Susan said, brightening. "See we promised Lucy she'd be able to send her very own wireless, so we're going to going to stop in town a moment or two. Then we're walking to the station. I'm taking a later train."

"What time?" the boy asked sadly.

"Don't remember," Susan said shortly, turning around. After staring at her hair, pouting, the boy moved back a few seats again.

"I get to send my own wireless?" Lucy whispered excitedly.

"Apparently," I shook my head, laughing. Susan had this thing about improvising successfully.

Soon, we stopped in Hutch, the small country town. It had one of the last stops of the underground. When we departed the train and went upstairs, the boy waved to Susan, and began to trudge in the direction of Wayside Junction in defeat.

We went to the post and let Lucy spell out her own telegram. I admired the tiny, well-fitted entry, wishing we didn't live in the city. It was very quiet in the town—barely any motorcars. The storefronts had a cottage quality to them.

"Dearest Mum," Lucy narrated. "Arrived safely STOP. We love you STOP." She paused and looked at Susan. "All is well, write soon," Susan concluded, handing over the appropriate change. When they finished, we stepped out into the sun, and breathed deeply. Such nice, clean air out here.

"Shall we walk to the station?" Edmund suggested. "I'm getting kind of hungry."

I checked my pocket watch. "It's after noon. That boy's train would've already come and gone."

"Excellent idea, Ed," Susan declared, taking the lead. We gathered our things where they had been on hold at the underground, borrowed dollies (with instructions to leave them at the junction for the porter to pick up later) and with some difficulty, traversed down the main street with our entire luggage.

When the road turned to gravel and the buildings disappeared slowly, now we passed mills and smiths set sparsely through the countryside, we began to feel the weight of the baggage. Not half a mile out of the town limits, we saw the single box-like slab of cement that served as the platform. A few steps led up to it, a single bench sat upon it, and a wall with half a roof served as a bitty shelter and notice board.

"It's very peaceful," Lucy commented, as we all lugged the suitcases and play boxes up the stairs and let them fall where they may around the bench.

Sighing, the four of us sat down in unison.

It was a very sleepy country. The sun was out, the weather had warmed gracefully, and only the grass remained damp. Birds sang in the trees ruffled by breezes. It was boring, but in a good way.

But inside, we felt our school gloom descending again. We'd all have to leave too soon.

"Ouch!" Lucy cried suddenly. We all looked at her.

"What's up, Lu?" asked Edmund. His face changed to one of shock. "Ow!"

"What on earth," I began to ask, fighting laughter. Something suddenly grabbed my arm and gave a frightful squeeze. It was like being clamped by a vice. "Susan," I snapped, "Let go! What are you doing!" I stared at her. "Where are you dragging me to?"

"I'm not touching you!" Susan cried. I glanced down. Nothing visible was near my arm. "Someone is pulling me!" she added. "Oh, oh, stop it!

I looked back at Ed and Lucy. Their faces were pale white.

"I felt just the same," Edmund added breathlessly. "As if something was trying to drag me along! A most frightful pulling—Ugh, it's beginning again!"

"Me too," added Lucy, beginning to shake off whatever seemed to have hold on her arms. "I can't bear it!"

"Look sharp!" yelled Ed suddenly. "All catch hands and keep together. This is magic – I can tell by the feeling. Quick!"

"Yes!" agreed Susan. "Hold hands!"

I caught her hand tightly in mine, Lucy grasped mine and Edmund's.

"Oh, I do with it would stop," cried Susan.

Suddenly everything around us simply vanished.

The sleepy country platform, the luggage, the wind, the cloudy sky, the sun, the sounds, everything dissolved into trees, blue sky, and a leafy forest floor. In an instant, we stood in a cleft of woods, quite breathless and magic-free. The trees of gray and brown flecked the mild incline, where bushes and ferns trailed about. There were leaves, birds, and—rocks, actually.

It was perfectly horribly ordinary.

We couldn't possibly be anywhere else, but—the plants seemed so dead. Everything was quiet. Where was that magical Narnian air? The air that refreshed your soul and caused fear to evaporate?

Perhaps there were other worlds, and Narnia was long part of our past.

"Oh Peter," Lucy whispered, "Do you think we can possibly have got back to Narnia?"

"It might be anywhere," I said doubtfully. Aslan wasn't exactly an active participant in our lives, why would he bother to give us anything we'd wished for? "I can't see a yard in all these trees. Let's try to get into the open—if there is any open."

Together, we began to trudge through the bramble.

* * *

**Hey guys! Hope the chapter was lengthy enough to satisfy you! I stayed up till 5:30 in the morning to finish, and then I worked for another 2 hours this afternoon. Haha. **

**Please favor me by leaving a review! Thankyou!**


End file.
